The jaunty Christmas trees by the hotel entrance twinkle persistently under the barrage of freezing water that has begun to fall like nails from the sky. Detective Constable Lorna Hillier pulls up as close to the front door as she can, her car skidding slightly as she brakes.
She has a checklist running through her brain at high speed. Close off entrances and exits; check CCTV (if any); confirm timings of guests; search all hidey-holes; PNC checks on everyone in the hotel for sex-register entries; liaise with the coastguard regarding search parameters; consider the necessity of a child rescue alert. Words like murder and kidnap leap around her head. Her eyes flit from wall to window, ears pricked as the weather changes shape outside.
‘Could do without this storm,’ she says to Mr Lamb, who greets her in the hotel lobby. They stand in front of the fireplace, their shadows dancing around the mahogany panelling. Behind them seven-foot-tall Christmas tree dominates the area in front of the desk, where an eavesdropping receptionist leans forward. ‘It’s going to make the search near-on impossible.’ Hillier glances at the ceiling. ‘Are the parents upstairs?’
‘Yes – with the baby. They’re not in a good way.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Hillier replies. ‘How many guests are staying here?’ she says, assessing the two corridors leading off from reception. There will be other exits, she thinks, other nooks and crannies where a child could hide or be hidden. ‘How many staff?’
‘I’ll get you a full list from the register,’ the hotel manager answers, shifting in his tweed suit, rising up onto his toes. He is barely an inch taller than Hillier and this is bothering him, she observes. ‘Would you like to see the parents now?’
Hillier glances at him, noting his glum expression. ‘Yes, and then I’ll want to talk to the guests. Perhaps you can gather them in the lounge? And . . . the chef?’ She looks at her small spiral-bound notebook. ‘In your call, you said he saw Georgie at around three p.m.?’
‘She came to see the kittens,’ Mr Lamb says. ‘We found them in a box down on the beach earlier. Someone obviously wanted to dump them. Marek – the sous-chef – brought them here. He put them in the pantry, just out the back of the kitchen.’ Mr Lamb nods in the direction of the wall behind Hillier. ‘Marek says that Georgie came in earlier, wanting to see them, and he showed her and they gave them some milk together. Then she went away.’ He exhales mournfully.
‘Went where?’
Mr Lamb hesitates. ‘I don’t know – we don’t know,’ he says at last.
‘How long has Marek . . . Surname?’
‘Kaczka.’
‘How long has he worked at Balcombe Court?’
‘Eighteen months. He’s a good lad. And why would he say he’d seen her if he’d . . . ?’ Lamb’s sentence peters out.
Hillier says nothing, making another note on her pad. She looks up as the constable first on the scene, Tom Ellis, comes into the hotel from outside, shaking droplets of water from his jacket.
‘Nothing,’ he says in answer to her unspoken question. ‘The boys are searching everywhere. Checking all the guest rooms, the places you told us about.’ He jerks his chin at the hotel manager.
‘OK’, Hillier says, raising her voice above the steady gun-fire sound of the rain drumming on the windows. ‘Mr Lamb, think carefully, please. Are there any other places you know of that Georgie might have crawled into? If she was exploring, could she have found a secret hiding place? The hotel’s so old, surely it has crawl spaces that might be attractive to a five year old?’
‘I’ve racked my brains,’ he says, his voice edging towards contained hysteria. ‘I’ve told you everywhere I can think of. The coal hole, I told you about. The outbuildings.’ He shakes his head, eyebrows pulled down deep together. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t think of anywhere else.’
Hillier nods and squares her shoulders. ‘Right then,’ she says. ‘Let’s go and see Mr and Mrs Greenstreet.’ She turns to leave, pulling Ellis to one side. ‘In the meantime, run checks on all the staff’s and guests’ timings. Especially the sous-chef, Marek Kaczka. He’s the last person to have spoken to Georgie. And then I want to see all the hotel guests for a chat.’